The Unpredictable Heart
by ShadowoftheHeart
Summary: It has been a year since the events of that final night at the Opera. Christine thinks that it is over but Erik still has a hold over her, and it is stronger than she realizes. EC
1. Chapter 1

A

A.N.- This is my first Phantom fic in a while, though I've loved the books, musical, and movies and whatnot for years. Please feel free review. Based on Webber, Leroux, and some Kay probably.

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_Le coeur est imprévisible_…

"_The heart is unpredictable._"

A strong mellifluous voice lilts through the air and captures her, causing her to be awestruck by its beauty. Gleaming amber eyes penetrate her and a flow of black fabric shrouds the lithe figure of a mysterious man. His air is a particular one of refinement and grace, and his gaze sharp and intense. A stark white mask sticks out almost mockingly with its sheer contrast to the beautiful visage around it, covering a half of the man's face.

The girl is drawn to the sharp and regal contours of his jaw line and the gleaming eyes, which are like liquid gold. The haunting voice has her entranced and a gloved hand is extended to her, waiting patiently for her to take it. She is hesitant and filled with mixed exhilaration and fear.

Then the man coos a name in his powerful voice, which causes her to breath unsteadily.

"_Christine_…" His voice is broken with passion and woe, and his figure illuminated in the soft candlelight.

He wants her to take his hand yet she just stands there, uncertain. He is so close, yet so far. His dark wings encompass her like a protective father, yet he is weeping.

"_Christine, do I not love you_?"

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Christine awoke with a start and looked around like a startled doe as she collected her thoughts. She held her covers protectively to her and breathed heavily when she glanced down at the sleeping figure next to her; Raoul de Chagny, her new husband, and former patron of the Opera Populaire. His light flaxen hair came down in soft tendrils and covered his handsome face from view and his chest rose and receded gently, indicating he was aloft in slumber.

Christine smiled absentmindedly at the sight yet pressed a hand to her forehead as she recalled her dream, which had been so palpable and seemed so utterly real. It had been a year since that final night and the destruction of the beloved Opera House, and the loss of her beloved Angel.

_Erik…_

She had closed her eyes momentarily and the thought of the man filled her with a great sorrow and wistfulness. There was another sense, a warmer and longing one that she could not place as well with the memory of the former troubled and ingenious Opera Ghost.

Christine wondered where he was, yet did not want to think of it at the same time. A part of her was afraid to, and she forced herself to dismiss the thought.

_I am a married woman now, not a naïve child to be swayed by the Angel of Music any longer._

Oh, but how she was swayed! Erik still had an iron hold over her and would even in death. She would not admit this, nor mentioned it to Raoul, and affirmed herself daily that this new life was what was best and that that she had made the right decision.

In truth, Christine was pleased with her life with Raoul, for he was doting and kind, yet there was always something pinpricking at the back of her mind and caused her many troubled nights. It was the shade and treasured of Erik, her past wooer, teacher, and angel that haunted and thrilled her still.

That day she arose early before the sun peaked over the clouds and dressed in haste, for she was in a restless mood. Christine had not returned to the haphazard and charred remains of the Opera Garnier since that final night a year past. Little to no reconstruction had occurred, and it seemed people had been afraid to, as if the Phantom would rise to terrorize them once again.

It saddened Christine greatly. She had used little of her musical talents that year and had instead focused on settling into the routine of the Vicomte de Chagny's wife and putting up with the family's ridicule and disapproval of her. She was a Countess now; she thought little of it and spoke to Raoul of how she missed being a singer.

They thought of traveling to Italy or perhaps England where she could get a career there, yet Raoul was hesitant to leave his native France, and thus had delayed such a trip.

Christine sighed to herself at thinking of these things and decided she would take a trip that day. She left a note for Raoul and knew he would probably scold her senseless about her traveling alone, but she cared not at that moment and called for a carriage to take her into town.

When she gave the directions to her destination, the driver raised an eyebrow in surprise, yet complied. As they rode, Christine's mind drifted off and before she knew it she had dozed off into reminiscing.

"_And Little Lotte thought_…"

_The fire flickering, their laughter swelling the room, a girl draped in lace and the sure and amiable face that was her father reading aloud to her from a book of stories…_

_"The Angel of Music…"_

"We're here Madame."

Christine blinked rapidly and stirred. "Hm? What?" She glanced around, bewildered, and collected her senses. The driver was staring at her impatiently and she hastily withdrew her purse and dropped several coins in to his hands before getting off.

She glanced around then.

_The Rue Scribe…_

Christine laughed to herself then.

_Am I really going to go back down there? I don't have a boat. Honestly Christine this is ridiculous! The only thing you will find is the murky water and an isolated home with no more spirit._

She stared intensely at the gate before she felt someone bump roughly into her, causing her to stagger and fall backward. A stack of papers flew everywhere and a man cried out in disdain.

"Pardon Madame!" The voice was inflected with an accent and Christine glanced up as the man extended his hand and hastily gathered up his papers to him.

She stared in wonder at the face, slightly lined with age with olive skin, black eyes, and hair hidden by an astrakhan cap. He was Persian perhaps and the sight of him intrigued her. She felt stupid when she realized how long she had been staring, and flushed before accepting the man's hand.

Christine dusted herself off and the man looked contritely at her. "I am sorry Madame, I was in a hurry."

Christine nodded, not really listening and began to walk away before the man noticed something that struck him and stopped him. "Wait, Madame, are you by perchance the Countess de Chagny?"

Christine stopped abruptly at glanced at him. "Yes, why?"

The foreigner's eyes gleamed and something passed across his face, recognition of some kind, which she could not place. It disturbed her and she wanted to leave. The look was fleeting however, before the man smiled warmly.

"I apologize for my rudeness. My name is Nadir Khan. What brings a fine lady such as you to town today? Is it not unusual to be wandering by yourself? Does your husband know of this?"

Christine inclined her weight, feeling awkward and not able to meet the man's curious gaze. She thought he looked familiar somehow, but couldn't place it. "That is my business sir, and I assure you my husband knows where I go. Now if you excuse me, I ought to be on my way."

She began to walk away and stopped when Nadir spoke softly. "Were you waiting to meet someone?"

He accentuated the last word and Christine flinched and rounded on him. "Sir I really ought to be going and so should you."

Nadir raised his arms in defeat but his eyes glinted at realizing he had hit a mark. He gave her a low, sweeping bow. "Avoir Madame, and good day to you then. It was a pleasure to meet you. I run a tea shop not two streets away if you should ever like to visit." With that he left as swiftly as he had come, leaving Christine flustered.

She felt cold then and glanced at the Rue Scribe gate for a long moment. Her eyebrows furrowed and she massaged her temples. She decided to head for the decimated Opera House and wandered like a lost and pensive ghost among its remains.

There were few people there, exclude a couple construction men who weren't really doing anything at all. Christine tightened her shawl around her when she went down a solitary corridor and recalled a memory of young ballerinas bustling to and fro about. She stopped at the desolate stage and stood there for a long moment, taking in the once magnificent rows of seats and private boxes. She glanced at box five and something wet clung to her lashes before she hastily brushed it away and left.

Christine went to her old dressing room and glance at the translucent mirror that still stood there. The room had gathered a film of dust and she wiped the mirror and stared at her reflection. She hardly recognized herself in her more formal attire of a Countess and her undulating chestnut curls drawn back in a favorable fashion to reveal more of her docile face. She traced a hand gently over the mirror before falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands.

"Angel…"

He was not there. There was nothing left of the grandeur Opera House but dust, splinters of wood, and charred remains. Christine would not even venture down the tunnel that lay beyond the mirror, for she knew it had been infiltrated by the mob the night that the Opera had been destroyed and did not want to see the destruction that lay beneath.

She could image the many works of art and the vast organ, littered with an array of compositions being consumed by flames and it made her heart wrench. With a sigh, she stood up and glanced around one last time. Something pricked at her, a familiar feeling, yet she ignored it and slowly made her way to move.

Christine did not notice a pair of cat-like and golden eyes watching her as she departed.

TBC!


	2. Chapter 2

A

A.N.-Chapter two. Please review, criticize whatever.

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_Je veux voir votre visage...__**non**__…Je ne veux pas voir votre visage_!

"_I want to see your face…__**no**__… I don't want to see your face!_"

Nadir paused when he heard the floorboards creak behind him. He was closing his shop and glanced around cautiously. Silence pervaded the air, and the noise was so thin that you could cut it with a knife. The Persian lit a candle then, feeling tense and as if eyes were lingering on his back. He sighed then and sat down in a burgundy colored settee.

"Oh do come down Erik, I know you are there."

A grunt was his reply and with a swift and nimble leap a figure swept out of the solace of the shadows onto the patterned rug beneath Nadir's feet. The Persian glanced up at the man, lean and lithe in stature, yet imposing and draped completely in black, with a fedora donned a top his head. The only thing that changed the suave and dire color scheme was the stark white mask on the right side of his face and those golden eyes that never lost sight of anything and gleamed with cantankerous ideas.

Nadir glanced down at the man's booted feet and frowned at the grime on them. "You've drug mud in. That is rude you know."

Erik donned his hat and flourished it, bowing extravagantly. There was a faint outline of a smirk on his face, revealing some of his old humor, yet it faded as quickly as it had come. "Come now Daroga is that a way to greet me?" He tossed his cloak and hat aside and plopped down on a chair athwart from the Persian.

Nadir shook his head in disbelief. "I'll have Darius bring some tea."

There was a long silence and soon Nadir's servant had brought the two of them tea, but Erik did not even touch his and stared off restlessly. He seemed more irked than usual and skittish like a balking horse. The Persian's eyes studied his old friend carefully, knowing something was amiss.

Erik had been bitter, inhibited, and downright inflexible since Christine had left him and the Opera House had been destroyed. He had sunk into a spiraling depression, ate little, and retreated to God knows where. He visited Nadir sporadically but it was rarely to have a friendly chat.

Something had occurred and Erik always came for a reason. He seemed somewhat excited; yet clearly bothered at the same time. Nadir looked at Erik as if reprimanding a child. He knew that look in the man's eyes however, and smiled carefully.

"You know, I ran into a certain Countess de Chagny today on the street. It was accidental and she seemed to be acting oddly. Does this mean anything to you? But then again I have no doubt you knew this already. You've not let the poor girl alone since she wed. You need to stop Erik and let her live her life. It is unhealthy."

Erik stiffened abruptly and his golden eyes glared like hot coals upon the Persian. He said nothing at first and dropped his gaze stubbornly. He scowled and cross his legs and acted as if Nadir had not said a word. "Do you have any?"

He said this quietly and the Persian's face fell. Erik was shifting in his seat and scratching at his arms. The sight pained Nadir. "Erik, I'm not going to let you continue to kill yourself."

Erik sneered then and rose from his seat swiftly. He loomed over Nadir threateningly and bared his teeth like an animal. "Give me some damned morphine Daroga, or I'll just rummage through your cupboards myself!"

Nadir relented, not favoring the man's wrath and could only shake his head sadly. He retreated and within moments brought out what had been demanded. Erik took it swiftly and rolled up one of his sleeves. He drew the drug into the needle and Nadir winced at the sight at a couple ghastly bruises left on the man's pale arm due to his addiction.

Erik had been less dependent on drugs and much healthier back when he pursued Christine's affections. Now his appetite was insatiable and he cared not the damage he dealt himself. Nadir could not watch as Erik forced the drug into his veins.

He slowly opened his eyes and had heard the man groan. Erik's eyes gradually became glazed over and the needled dropped uselessly to the ground with a thud. He sunk back in a chair and his head slumped against it. He chuckled to himself and glanced at the line of blood that trickled down his arm as if entranced.

"You know Daroga I saw her there, at the Opera Populaire. She called for me, yet I didn't go to her. The again, she doesn't really care does she? She's happy with that fop of a Vicomte. Ha! But her eyes…sad…"

Erik began to mumble to himself as he drifted under the influence of the drugs and Nadir watched his friend sorrowfully. "Erik you have to forget her."

Erik grinned unconscientiously and glanced at the ceiling. "She called me Angel." The grin faded and his eyes blinked as sleep gradually took him.

Nadir groaned in exasperation before finding a blanket and draping it over Erik. The man was like a lost child and his obsession with Christine was destroying him. He, who was such a genius of many proportions, was reduced to a pitiful, bitter, and drug-induced invalid.

Nadir glanced at Erik's masked face and the one non-marred side, which had lines of weariness collecting on the handsome countenance. "_Un ange tombé_…a fallen angel."

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When Christine returned home, an annoyed and concerned Raoul bombarded her. "Christine! My God, where did you go? When I woke up you were gone and there was a note…"

He enveloped her in a swift embrace and Christine was calm and weary. "It's all right Raoul. I merely went into town."

Raoul scowled. "You cannot be going places unescorted! It is not safe or proper. You know that. You are my wife Christine and a Countess. How does that represent us?"

Christine sighed. "It was just one time. Besides I am no child, stop treating me like one. I am sorry for going out without your permission."

She looked doleful and Raoul's eyebrows furrowed. "Christine, did something happen? Where did you go anyhow?"

Christine did not meet his eyes. The silence answered his question and Raoul paled. "You went _there _didn't you? I thought we had agreed to not return there! Christine I thought you had finally put all that behind you!"

Raoul was losing his temper now and Christine merely shook her head. "I know, but I had to see…one time at least, before we leave one day. It's so empty Raoul, yet it's like I can still feel him there, everywhere…"

She buried her face in her hands and Raoul held her fiercely to him. "He's gone now, you hear? He's dead and he can't hurt you anymore. Forget it Christine. Soon we'll be away from all this. There has been some requests for an understudy for a revered prima donna in Rome. They are going to conduct a season of _Romeo and Juliet_ and have asked that you partake in the role. I've already booked tickets and we'll start packing. We'll leave in a month _ma cherie. _

"You'll be on stage again and think in the beautiful city of Rome! I've always yearned to see it."

His words cheered Christine up some and the mentioning of it all helped alleviate the memory of the desolate Opera. "That sounds wonderful."

Her words weren't enthusiastic, as she had hoped; yet Raoul smiled and kissed her brow. "That is my Little Lotte. Now come, let us dine!"

Over the next few days everything was uneventful. Raoul went on a business trip with some of his associates, leaving Christine alone in the household by herself with but some servants. She was gazing out the window on a warm spring day and daydreaming. She recalled a memory back at the Opera house when she had been having a lesson with Erik.

"_No my dear, raise you head. Do not project so much sound through your nose! Keep your shoulders back and breath evenly. Yes, yes there you go…_" _Erik had instructed her, fussing and praising her practice. _

_He always showered her with praise and sharp criticism. He was a very strict, yet attentive and skilled teacher. Christine had savored when he would bestow his wondrous voice upon her. _

_"Now my dear, we recite the duet. I will play the lead and you'll come in after me." He began to sing, clearly and brilliantly, awing Christine and ensnaring her in his voice's gentle caress._

_Her voice rang out with his own and Erik grinned widely. "Yes, yes!" He cried excitedly. There voices flowed in a striking and thunderous duet and Erik praised Christine exultantly when they finished._

_"That was splendid my dear! Keep that up and they will all bow at your feet. You know this particular opera takes place in Rome. Ah, what a lovely city it is!"_

_Christine looked at Erik curiously. "You've been to Rome?"_

_Erik nodded indifferently. "Yes, yes, I was younger then. Now I suppose you should get back to your rooms before they notice you are gone. I'll escort you up."_

Christine had meant to ask Erik about Rome, but never had. She regretted it and breathed heavily.

_Now I can't. I don't know where he is and I will never see him again. Erik…_

She could still recall his face so clearly. She did not see the monstrous deformation that lay beneath the mask but had always seen the soul beneath it.

_Oh my angel, you were so very beautiful…if only you could have seen it yourself._

There was nothing much to do alone in the de Chagny estate so Christine disregarded Raoul's warning for her not go anywhere alone and took a carriage once again into town. She recalled the Persian and his mentioning of a teashop. She wasn't so sure of the idea, but the thought of tea sounded lovely, and she felt ridiculously compelled to check out the place anyhow.

Nadir Khan was not expecting a certain lovely and young Countess de Chagny to arrive at his humble and exotic little teashop that day. He seldom had customers. It fact the shop was more of a ruse. He did other forms of work that were secret and took the role of a foreign teashop owner and had a small souvenir like shop to go along with it. He liked the fact how he was often left alone and preferred it that way.

When his servant Darius brought in Christine, Nadir did a double take involuntarily before recovering himself swiftly. "Darius bring a chair for the girl and some tea, now! Here madame, do sit down."

He sounded ill at ease and Christine wondered if it had been the wrong idea to come after all. She sat down and waited patiently for Darius to prepare the tea. Nadir tugged at the coif of his shirt and stood staring at a roaring fire in its hearth as if contemplating over what to do.

Christine did not know that Erik was hidden in Nadir's rooms upstairs and recovering from a bad drug episode last night. He had passed out, so Nadir had no choice but to drag the insufferable Phantom of the Opera upstairs till he recovered himself. Erik only came out at night, but he was sure to wake up and wondered what had happened. Nadir could only hope that did not happen while Christine was present and turned around to play the host card.

Christine was handed her tea and Nadir smiled amiably at her and made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Is there anything else I could get you Madame? Perhaps a sweet of some kind?"

Christine declined politely and her gaze became downcast. She sipped at the frothy tea and Nadir attempted a conversation. "Where is your husband? Out of town?"

Christine nodded. "He's out on business for the rest of the week. This is an interesting shop. It was hard to spot though. It took me a while to find it."

That had been the point when Nadir had found the place and made it his own. He nodded then and drew her to a more comfortable chair by the fire. He was curious about this girl and why Erik liked her so much, so he took the time to do some gentle prodding.

"I heard that you lived at the Opera for years and were becoming quite a diva. May I ask my lady, if you intend to continue your career elsewhere? Across the seas perhaps?"

Christine shrugged nonchalantly. "Raoul and I plan to go to Italy next month where I am to be an understudy in Rome. It is just a short run of a season of _Rome and Juliet_, nothing more."

Nadir was curious and his eyebrows shot up. "Rome, you say? I hear it is a grand city. You must enjoy singing my dear. Surely you should wish to continue doing it for the rest of your life?"

Christine frowned and a pensive look passed across her face. "Yes, I should like that very much, yet with me being a Countess…"

Nadir nodded in sympathy. "Yes well…I understand that since last year's events at the Opera that it could be difficult to go back to such a lifestyle?"

Christine's head shot up and her dark eyes flickered. "The fire?"

Nadir's bottom lip twitched. He had been silently assessing her, finding her harder to figure out. He had thought she'd been simpler and had even thought he'd dislike her, yet was wrong. She was kind, yet looked so mournful like a young doe and it moved him. "Oh, yes, the 'fire'…"

It was then that Christine saw a cat slither by and she froze. She had seen that cat before and grew cold. "Where did you get that cat?" Its sharp, narrowed eyes locked on Christine's, displaying a hostile gaze.

Nadir glanced at the cat and opened his mouth. "Ah, her?" He stared dumbly at the cat as it licked its paw. "I've always had her, why?"

Christine felt dubious and relaxed somewhat, seeming disappointed. "Oh, perhaps I was mistaken. I thought I'd seen it before."

She looked pained then and Nadir shook his head.

_Damn it Erik, bringing your blasted feline around! She's already begun to live off me. Plus she hates me._

He glanced at the cat warily and she gave a little cocky-eyed look that reminded him much of Erik, before she slinked away.

(A.N. This cat is only in Susan Kay's version if I recall…sorry to confuse readers, but Erik has a cat in that book and she only likes him. I had to add the kitty. The thought of Erik have a possessive cat amuses me.)

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Erik grumbled as he came to and cradled his throbbing head. He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow with a groan. He felt something soft nudge his face and unconsciously reached his hand out to stroke the furry head of a cat.

"Aisha…by the hells…" The cat nudged him more insistently, and Erik rolled on his back before gradually rolling out of bed.

He glanced around the room, recognizing it as the Daroga's and huffed. His left arm ached and he rubbed it in irritation. He touched his face and felt the gnarled flesh of the right side.

_Damned Persian took my mask off!_

It lay there on the bedside table and he placed it back on his face and ruffled his hair and dressed. Erik had no idea what time it was and assumed it was day. Aisha's luminescent eyes were fixated on him and the man sniffed.

"I'll get some food for you, but no doubt the Daroga is feeding you. You are putting on some weight."

It was then that he heard some voices downstairs and froze. He heard Nadir speaking, but couldn't understand what the man was saying. There was another voice, which caused Erik to still in horror.

_It can't be._

He gradually crept out into the hallway upstairs and peeked his head out slightly to see if he could catch a glimpse of who was downstairs. He saw the fleeting back of Nadir and the quick sight of petticoats and a wave of dark curls.

"This way madame. Have a good day."

"Thank you monsieur."

Erik felt the color drain from his face. He couldn't just rush downstairs and waited anxiously until Nadir returned alone.

The Persian automatically sensed the man's presence and sighed. "Yes Erik?"

Erik did not reveal himself, for his heart was racing. "Daroga, her voice…Christine, that was her, wasn't it?"

Nadir looked indifferent. "I don't know what you are talking about. It was just an every day customer that is all. Now I would appreciate if you would get out of here quickly and take that insufferable cat with you before any more customers come in and happen to see you."

Erik breathed deeply. "Perhaps I was mistaken. I hear her voice everywhere nowadays. Not that it matters…" His hand grazed the downy fur of Aisha's coat and his eyes burned. "She's made her bed, and it's not with me."

It was not long before Erik had left as Nadir asked, and the Persian found a bag of coins left mysteriously out on a table. His friend did pay his host for his services, yet would not thank him personally, for he was too stubborn for that. Nadir wanted Erik to just forget Christine and was not pleased with the fact she had actually taken his invitation to come to the shop.

She would not doubt return sometime and Nadir feared her encountering Erik once again. He wasn't sure how to prevent it, and could only hope that Christine would not return within the month before she left for Rome and that they could all forget this.

It would not be forgotten, however, and Nadir did not think of the possible chance of the two encountering in a place other than his teashop.

TBC!


	3. Chapter 3

_Qui est cette forme dans les ombres_?_ Qui est ce visage dans le masque_?

"_Who is that shape in the shadows? Who is that face in the mask?"_

There was a gala occurring at another Countess' estate and Christine and many others were invited. Raoul unfortunately could not attend the event, for was delayed on his trip, so Christine went in the company of his mother, whom was not too thrilled to escort a daughter-in-law she did not approve of.

It was a very blithe event and had many gossiping people and overly-dressed women fanning themselves. Christine stood uncomfortably in a corner, sipping lightly on some wine and gazing timidly at the others. She shied away from those who tried to speak to her and replied quickly, feigning a headache.

She did not feel confident in such a party without Raoul to support her. It had been three days since she had been to the teashop and had been bothered ever since. She could have sworn that the cat she saw was Aisha, yet then again there had to be other cats like her.

Christine figured she was beginning to imagine things, yet had the desire to return to the exotic shop once again. Nadir acted as if he had been hiding something, yet then again, it could have been a mere interpretation. She glanced then at her portentous mother-in-law, whom sent a disdainful glance her way when their eyes met.

Christine could not understand the woman's blatant disapproval of her. Many of the other women praised her beauty and commented on how they had seen her performances in the past and had been impressed. They complimented her, yet she still had yet to earn their full approval. She had not been born into noble blood, and there was much controversy over the subject.

It grew later into the night and people gradually began to disperse and return home. Raoul's mother insisted on staying until very late. They finally called for a carriage and went to return to their homes. There were few people on the street that time of night, save for some drunks and whores, which Christine found discomforting.

She stared off into nothingness and listened to the incessant rickety noise of the carriage as it moved. Her mother-in-law merely disregarded her save for a few condescending sniffs.

Suddenly the carriage came to an abrupt halt and they were thrown from their seats and onto the floorboard. Christine's mother-in-law let out a cry of surprise, and Christine helped her and scrambled up herself. She poked her head outside to see what was going on, only to find a knife poised at her breast.

"I wouldn't be moving if I was you missy."

Christine found herself face to face with a scruffy-looking man who reeked of alcohol and the brothels. He gave her a wayward and toothy grin.

"There won't be any running, my friend's have got the driver. Show me your purse madame and we'll be on your way, no harm done, I promise."

Christine scowled. "Is this a way to treat a lady?"

Raoul's mother rose upward and brushed a grey lock of hair from her face. She puffed her chest out and scowled. At another man who brandished a weapon at her.

"Honestly, how brazen! Do you know who I am?" she cried, affronted.

One of the men snickered. "It don't matter, you have money! Come on old lady, give it here."

She shook her head obstinately. "I'll not succumb to ruffians like you!"

Christine sighed heavily. "We don't have much of a choice 'Mother.' They've got weapons, just give them the money so we can go."

They stood there tensely, and Raoul's mother eventually complied, though grumbled to herself the whole time. Christine gave in solemnly and the man next to her grinned broadly. "Thanks ladies. Louis, Pierre, get the old lady. This one here is mine."

Her reached swiftly for Christine's arm and pulled her forward brusquely. She let out a cry of protest and struggled against his hold. "You said you'd let us go!"

The man laughed vigorously. "I can't waste a beauty like you, can I? Come with me missy!"

Christine kicked and thrashed, yet the man held a knife to her throat, stilling her. Raoul's mother was seized, but merely knocked unconscious and checked for valuables. Christine stood stiffly and her eyes burned, but she remained willful and refused to succumb to the man. She glowered fiercely at him, and this only amused him more.

"Come now missy, how about a kiss?" He leaned inward, with alcohol foul on his breath. Christine closed her eyes in disgust. The man's mouth never made contact with hers, however.

Something knocked into the both of them and her captor was hurled backwards and fell unceremoniously to the ground. Christine staggered in a daze and glanced around in bewilderment. A dark figure knocked the man down and quickly disposed of him. She stared in disturbed awe and fear. The two other men who had attacked them tried to flee for their lives, but were quickly seized up and knocked unconscious by the newcomer who seemed to possess an unnatural nimbleness.

They landed on the cobblestone ground with a harsh thud and Christine stared down at the men, stupefied. Her shrouded rescuer glanced down at the men coolly before his eyes met hers. A cloak covered his face, yet Christine saw a pair of gleaming gold eyes that froze her to the core.

She noticed the person falter and stared at him, fascinated and afraid. "Who are you?"

The man did not reply and began to walk away. Christine called out to him in surprise, wanting to see the face of the man. "Wait, don't go. My mother-in-law has been hurt and I can't carry her back home. I'd also like to see the face of my rescuer."

The man stilled and did not look at her for a long moment. He gradually let his eyes settle on the unconscious figure of Raoul's mother and his eyes narrowed. Christine kneeled by her, inspecting her, and figured that she had just received a nasty bump to the head. The whole city of Paris was sure to hear of the incident, for Raoul's mother would surely start proclaiming what had happened to her as soon as she awoke.

Christine glanced up at her silent rescuer, whom made no motion to betray what he intended to do next. He let out a soft sigh of annoyance before begrudgingly acquiescing to Christine's plea. He hoisted up the unconscious mother-in-law effortlessly over his shoulder as if she was a sack of potatoes and settled her in the carriage.

He pointed for Christine to get in as well and she looked at him questionably. "But sir, I haven't told you where to go."

The man faltered. He seemed hesitant to speak and his fierce amber eyes glared at Christine, indicating for her to be silent. Her face fell and she entered the carriage reluctantly and let her rescuer lead the way. He seemed to know where he was going, and this realization disturbed Christine.

Did she know this man? There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't point it out. It was rather peculiar for him to have not spoken a word and be veiled like that.

Christine's mind reeled with questions and she wondered if she had been duped and if she was just falling into another trap. Her savior could actually not be a savior at all, and she paled when she hadn't thought of that possibility earlier. She didn't have much more time to think, because before she knew it, the carriage had stopped in front of the de Chagny manor.

Christine was wary as they came to a halt and glanced at her mother-in-law whom had still not regained consciousness. She saw the carriage door open swiftly then, and jumped in surprise. Her rescuer stood before her and moved aside with a flourish of his cloak and extended his hand to help her down.

He paused and kept her hand in his as if savoring in her touch before releasing her curtly. He was about to leave and Christine called for him. "Wait, my mother-in-law!"

The man froze and seemed irked. He had obviously not given much of a care for the woman, and Christine wondered why. She looked at him imploringly however, and heard him groan and once again hoist Raoul's mother over his shoulders like a cumbersome load.

The rescuer paused before the gates as if assessing the elongated iron bars. His vivid amber eyes eyed the grand mansion before them with loathing. Suddenly he refused to move anymore and dropped the unconscious woman from his shoulders onto the grass with a grunt.

Christine let out a cry of disdain and stumbled after the man as he strode lithely back to the carriage. "What are you doing? That is positively uncouth! She is elderly!"

The man shrugged nonchalantly, and this ignited Christine's temper. Her ivory face flushed crimson and she jabbed him roughly in the stomach. "Don't you shrug at me! Be a gentleman. You don't just throw unconscious people-an older countess no less- on the ground!"

The man's golden eyes widened in bewilderment as Christine began attack him with her new found censure. Her rescuer absolutely refused to budge and help Raoul's mother, and seemed to take amusement in how he was flustering Christine.

He went to mount the carriage, but Christine seized his wrist firmly. "Don't you dare leave!"

She tugged on his sleeve and the man stiffened and glanced at her. Something in gaze made Christine falter. She saw an intense familiarity in it and drew away from him, startled. Her heart began to race and she shook her head to collect herself.

"Show me your face," she ordered suddenly, in an odd tone of urgency.

The man merely stood there as still as stone. Christine's eyebrows furrowed and she was unsure why she felt so anxious. It was unlike her, yet an insistent pressure had begun to prick at her brain and insisted that she see the man's face. She had to, and she would.

The cloaked figure was not prepared for when Christine abruptly dived at him and reached for the hood of his cloak. She drew it back with one quick motion. She staggered backwards as the man let out a snarl and shoved her away brusquely. He recoiled and shielded his face with his arm.

Christine caught a brief glimpse of a mask and her face fell. Her legs suddenly felt weak and she name fell forth from her lips in a broken sob. "_Erik_?"

He had his back to her and straightened. His head slowly turned to meet her and his lean stature towered over her. There was a mixed expression on his face and he eyed her intensely, and without a word. He was as Christine remembered him, and each and every detail stood out more palpable than ever to her.

There was a long silence as they eyed each other and Christine was staring, captivated and overwrought. Her eyes welled with tears before she threw her arms around Erik in a passion and buried her face into the crook of his neck. The force of her hug caused him to grunt, but he stood there limply and did not make a motion to return the hug.

"I thought you were dead. Oh, Angel I thought I would never see you again!" Christine muttered fervently. Her mind was reeling and all she could thing about was the great relief of seeing her old friend and teacher.

It was then that she noticed that Erik was as stiff as a board and had still said nothing. He looked discomfited and averted his gaze as she looked at him questionably. "Erik?"

She tilted his chin downward so that he had to meet her gaze. Erik faltered for a moment, and his golden eyes burned with mixed emotions before he wrenched himself from her grasp. Christine was appalled and hurt by this.

"Erik, what is the matter?"

"Don't touch me." His voice was cold and bordered on vehement. He had turned from her for a moment, but faced her again with such sharpness, that it startled and frightened her. He had never used such a tone with her before.

Christine's gaze became downcast and her chest heaved. Her eyes burned, yet she kept tears at bay. She knew why Erik was bitter with her, yet it still wounded her. "Erik, I know that things did not end well between us. I am sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to."

Erik snorted and his mouth curled into a sneer. "It's too late to apologize girl. You're home safe now, so why don't you call some of your servants to escort you and drag the fop-bearer hag inside. Now if you don't mind, I will be on my way."

He went to leave; yet Christine's frantic grip on his arm caused him to halt. Her voice was meek and tremulous, and her dark eyes glimmered like a lost doe. "Please Erik, don't end it like this. Don't leave yet. I know it has been a while since we've seen each other and that you probably hate me. I can't bear the thought…

"I thought you were dead and it could have only been because of me. You are alive now though, and it's like I'm wandering in a dream. Erik, please do not be cold, I beg of you. Not a day has gone by where I have not lamented for the suffering I caused you."

A jolt of emotion struck Erik then, and his austere guard slipped somewhat. He stared at Christine, flabbergasted for a few moments, and clinging to her every word. A part of him wanted to just crush her to him and kiss her all over, yet when he looked at the grand de Chagny mansion before him he was reminded of the great barrier that stood between them and the cause of his agony.

Christine took one of Erik's hands within her own and removed the glove covering it. She stroked the skin there and glanced down at it sorrowfully. His hands had sowed such beauty and genius, as well as reaped. Erik stilled at her tender touch and breathed heavily. He reached out a hand tentatively to touch her, yet paused before her face.

His eyes narrowed and he removed himself with a growl. Christine reached out to him once again, yet Erik refused to swayed. He was obstinate and could take no more of those mournful doe-like eyes upon him. He held his hand out to stop Christine and she did, now defeated.

"Will I see you again?" she murmured.

Erik shifted. "You've your life now, and I've mine. Don't expect anything more."

Christine's aching heart felt as if it were about to burst from her chest. It was too wrong! She had dreamed constantly of seeing Erik again, and this was not how she had pictured it. She couldn't let it end like this.

"Erik, you saved me, and I'm thankful."

Her voice was soft and made Erik grumble. "Don't thank me. I didn't save you because it was you. I wouldn't let anyone get attacked like that. It was out of no attachment to you."

Christine frowned. "I didn't know you were so charitable monsieur." Her voice hardened, not being able to take much more of Erik's harshness.

She heard him chuckle and he looked at her mockingly. "Oh, I am a very magnanimous sort! I must wonder Madame, where your husband is and why he was not there to help you instead?"

Christine's face fell and Erik reveled in her torture. "What a wonderful husband he is to leave his wife and mother alone, and on the Parisian streets at night too! How improper! Might I say Madame, what will people think?"

Christine was losing her equanimity and nearly struck Erik across the face, yet he moved aside sinuously. He gave her a smooth grin at seeing how red her face was and how her eyes burned with tears.

"What did you expect Countess; a heartfelt rendezvous? You ran away with your beloved Vicomte after I gave you everything. You owe all your talent to me! Without me you might as well be nothing."

Christine could handle the ridicule and her joy to see him gradually dissolved into indignation. "I had thought you'd be better than to be so juvenile Erik. You've so much pride, so instead of taking the situation like a proper man should, you demean yourself by resorting to base insults."

Erik shrugged and was unperturbed by her words. "At least I didn't choose a hedonistic lifestyle. I do like being juvenile. It is quite amusing to fluster the popinjays of the modern aristocracy."

Christine scowled. " 'Hedonistic?' And what would you call your life then? What is it that you do nowadays Erik, still duping people to give you money and lurking in the shadows to amuse yourself with cantankerous games? You haven't changed much it seems."

Her words caused Erik to laugh in his rich baritone voice. This made Christine miffed. "What is funny?"

Erik shook his head and gave her a twisted grin. "Oh nothing Madame, I'm just surprised how quickly you've let the noble's conceit affect you. This has been a lovely reunion and all, but I must be going. It is a pity I forgot my fedora. I think you deserve a bow."

Christine growled in contempt and Erik snickered. She was speechless at first, as he turned around and mounted the carriage. Desperation took over her then, even through her resentment, and she found herself asking a peculiar question.

"Erik, do you still have Aisha?"

Erik stilled for a moment and gave Christine a sidelong glance of perplexity. "Yes, why?"

Christine's eyes glinted. "I was just curious."

One of Erik's eyebrows raised, but he did not further the subject. Christine waved to him then, now somber and formal. "Well, goodbye then Erik."

Erik gripped the reins tightly at the softness of her voice. "You should get to bed Countess. It is getting late." He said no more as he whisked the reins upward and took off into the darkness of the night.

Christine watched his fleeting figure leave and she lowered her head. "Erik…"

_I know where you are staying._

TBC


End file.
